Long Island
by anaisninja01
Summary: A cute little QuatreXDorothy songfic. Don't worry, I'm fixing to get back to


Alright, people, just calm down.  I haven't abandoned "I love Lucy"…I'm just taking a break from it.  In the mean time, here is another Quatre/Dorothy fic.  It's a one-shot, which is what I need right now to recover.  I used to listen to this song everyday, driving to school, and it somehow made me think of Dorothy and Quatre.  If you aren't familiar with the song, "Long Island," or the band, That Dog, I really recommend that you check them out.  I also really recommend that y'all review, or I may not ever recover enough to finish "I Love Lucy."  Got it?  Good!  Now on with the songfic.

Disclaimer:  I do not own Gundam Wing or any of it's characters.  I do not own "Long Island."  All of these things belong to much more talented people than I.

          How could he be so. . .so gorgeous?!  Wait, that is not what I meant.  I meant 'obnoxious.'  How can he be so obnoxious?!  That rich little spoiled brat, acting like he's just like everyone else, looking straight through me with those azure eyes, being so sweet and understanding. . . .  Damn!  I am doing it again.  Oh well, he is pretty cute for a rich boy.

Come on, Dorothy.  You can make it through this, and you will have even more support for the Romafeller Foundation's peace efforts.  I cannot decide if his presence here is making things better or worse.  It certainly makes things more entertaining.  Ahh!  I need to get some fresh air.  Walking out on to the veranda, I look up at the stars and pull out a cigarette.  I light it and think about my life as it stands right now.

I am sick and fucking tired of all these Society boys; I am really not meant for this kind of life.  It is not that I cannot handle it, but it cannot handle me.  They all think that just because I am an aristocrat that I should be a blushing debutante.  Well half of them think that, anyway.  The other half think that I am a little too strong-willed, but I could be the perfect trophy wife once they break me.  It makes me laugh how they presume to take me on.

          After the war, I realized that this was part of what was keeping me down.  I cannot turn my back on it, though.  I have to keep on top of things.  I have to make sure that Miss Relena's peace lasts.  I plan on using every asset available to me to make that happen; even if it includes standing around listening to inane drivel at stupid parties like this.

To be completely honest, I would like nothing more than to move out west to California and live like a normal person.  Well, a normal person with assets, of course.  I just want my own apartment, my own table, my own TV, a car, and the right to live however I like.  Of course, a certain ex-pilot who happens to be blond and handsome wouldn't hurt matters.  I am really starting to think that I could spend time with him, if he was not so caught up in all this upper class nonsense.

For a moment, I let myself daydream.  Somehow I remember an old song.

You're pretty dreamy for a boy from Long Island   
You should come to see me on my western horizon   
Seems as though our lives were never meant to meet   
But I just look at you and know you're pretty sweet

          In my daydream, I drive around with Quatre in some old car.  We watch TV, eat dinner, and drive.  Somehow, we end up overlooking a canyon and laying on the hood of my car, looking up at the stars and sharing a cigarette.  I sigh as I realize this will never happen.  Quatre does not love me, he would never sit on the hood of a beat up car, and he doesn't even smoke.

I want to set a place for you at my table   
We can sit forever watching reruns on cable   
Take you driving in my brother's beat old car   
Sharing a cigarette and wish upon a star together 

Exhaling a puff of smoke, I hear some one cough behind me, subtly trying to get my attention.  I just turn my head and see the very object of my thoughts and daydreams.  "Quatre Raberba Winner, what _are_ you doing out here?  I thought that you couldn't stand the smell of smoke," I manage to say with my practiced tone of disdain.

"Well, I don't like it, but some things are just worth sacrificing. . . ."

I laugh sardonically.  "Whatever do you mean, Master Winner?"

"That's a lovely outfit you're wearing Miss Dorothy.  That light pink dress shirt and satin skirt are very becoming on you.  You know, I have several shirts like that?  Huh, that is a remarkable coincidence."

I stop, shocked.  That song keeps playing in my head.  
  
So you say you like my shirt   
(I like your shirt)   
And you say you've got a lot just like them   
(I've got a lot just like them) 

"I would love for you to come visit me some time.  I composed a violin piece that I think you'd like.  It's not very good, but I couldn't stop thinking of you while I was writing it.  Isn't that strange?  Anyway, I think you could write some lovely lyrics to it.  How about coming by tomorrow evening," he continues, being even more open than usual.  I cannot manage a response, thinking of how surreal this all is.  A little feeling wiggles through my body, making me weak.  God, it has been so long since I had a crush.  I forgot how much they hurt.

  
And I hear you wrote a song about me 

(La, la, la, la)  
By definition, a crush must hurt   
And they do, and they do   
Just like the one I have on you.   
  


          My voice fails me, but I am still able to cast a derisive look in his direction.  "Don't be this way, Dorothy.  I know that you've changed.  You're starting to let that kind person inside of you show."  I open my mouth to object. "Hush for just a moment, Dorothy."  I close my mouth but pout in response.  He smiles softly at me.  "I know about all the work you've done for peace.  I know that you still see Miss Relena.  But most of all, I know that you don't mean it when you look at me like that."

          Again I try to protest, but his smile stops me.  "So I've been found out, have I?  Well, I suppose that's alright, as long it stays our little secret.  If word gets out that I've gone soft, it will only mean more work for me.  That would upset me, and I don't think you want to upset me," I reply, poking him in the side, directly where I had stabbed him years earlier, and he gives me a admonishing look.  Somehow, I have to find a way to keep him.  I know that now.

  
I want to set a place for you at my table   
We can sit forever watching reruns on cable 

Seems as though our lives were never meant to meet   
But I just look at you and know you're pretty sweet 

The next day, I find myself standing in front of the elegant Winner mansion.  I look around at the lush, well kept gardens, and I cannot help but wonder why I'm here.  Why couldn't I have been poor?  Then I might have been good and worthy; then I would have worked; at least, I would have been impressed by these beautiful surroundings.  See the complicated beauty, but still live a simple life.  I'm startled out of my reverie by a gentle hand on my shoulder and a strong arm around my waist.  Arm around my waist?!  And whispering in my ear?!

"Hello, Dorothy," Quatre is whispering so close to my ear that I can feel his warm breath.  I stare forward, in shock, while he pulls away, taking my hand and leading me toward the house.  "Come inside.  I want you to hear this song I wrote for you."

We end up spending the whole day together, listening to music, discussing politics, and all the time finding reasons to touch.  It doesn't seem right.  I don't belong here.  I don't belong anywhere, but, Hell, I'll take what I can get.

  
So you say you like my shirt   
And you say you've got a lot just like them   
And I hear you wrote a song about me   
By definition, a crush must hurt   
And they do, and they do   
Just like the one I have on you. 

"Shall we go for a drive, Dorothy?  I know a lovely place where we could look at the stars.  I'll even let you drive.  Come on, let's go!"  I cannot believe what he is saying.  All I can do is smile and nod dumbly at his suggestion.  Walking out of the mansion and towards my car, he grabs my hand and doesn't let go of it throughout the drive.  He tells me to stop out in the middle of nowhere.  "No street lights, no people; jut the stars and you and me," he says,  as he opens the car door and climbs out.  I follow his lead and get out of the car.  

Staring up at the sky, I sit on the hood and pull out a cigarette.  I take a drag and hoist myself all the way on to the car, leaning back against the wind-shield.  The next thing I know, he is lying next to me and pulling the cigarette out of my fingers.  "You really should quit, you know?  These things are horrible for you."

"I know, I know.  I guess I just never had a reason to."

"Well, I'm gonna give you one.  Every cigarette you smoke, I'm going to smoke half of it," he says sternly, taking a puff and coughing loudly.  I had to laugh at him.  "Now you aren't just killing yourself; you're killing me too."

"Alright.  Can we just finish this last one, though?"

"Fine.  Hey, we haven't made a wish yet.  You know, on a star.  Come on, you know you want to."

So we start the old rhyme together, "star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight."  I close my eyes tight and wish for Quatre to kiss me.  

When I open my eyes, Quatre's face is right in front of mine.  "You're beautiful when you make wishes.  What did you wish for?" he asks me.

"If I tell you, it won't come tru—"

I'm cut off by his sweet lips on mine.  God, this child can kiss.  "See?"  I tell him.  "If I had told you, it wouldn't have come true."

"Well, thank Allah, you could hold your tongue for once!"  He kisses me again.  And again.  And again.  And again….

You're pretty dreamy for a boy from Long Island   
You should come to see me on my western horizon   
Take you driving in my brother's beat up car   
Sharing a cigarette and wish upon a star together


End file.
